


Only you can break me, only you can make me whole.

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, cause they can't really be, set after the Barcelona tie, so Eric and Dele are ppl who sleep together but aren't in a formal relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's after the Barcelona game, and Dele should be ecstatic.Instead, he's preoccupied with Eric's foul mood.





	1. Something's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this pretty much after the game (Barcelona vs Tottenham for the CL, 11/12/2018), when we didn't yet know about Eric. I had assumed he was sick, so I incorporated it in the fic, but of course I had no idea what was actually going on (I doubt anyone did, so far back).
> 
> Also, I don't think Eric was mad at Dele during the stream. I think they're fine :) 
> 
> This is pure fantasy. 
> 
> Feel free to correct any errors/typos. Thanks for being here!

He finds Eric in the dressing room, hunched in a corner, headphones in and looking at his mobile. He’s been down for the past couple of days, the flu or something, and he’s being more of a loner than usual.

He’s been acting weird, too, but Dele would rather not dwell on that.

‘Hey, Diet.’ Dele sits down next to him, nudges him with his shoulder.

Eric just shrugs and Dele looks down, sees Eric’s watching a video. It’s him with Winksy, that teammate interview they did. Dele frowns. He nudges Eric again. ‘Why are you watching that?’

Eric turns to look at him, raises his eyebrows. ‘Nice kissy face you got there.’

Dele shakes his head, confused. They don’t kiss in public. Then Eric glances down at the screen, and Dele remembers. He made a kissy face at Harry during the interview. He wasn’t sure they’d keep it in.

‘Oh, that. Well, you know. Being cheeky,’ he smiles.

In truth, he does such things, sometimes, to protect them both. If he’s flirty with everyone, nobody can single his and Eric’s relationship out. More than they already have, anyway.

Dele gets up and leans against the table across from Eric, who’s frowning at the screen. ‘It looks awkward.’

Well. Dele doesn’t remember the moment being awkward, just silly.

‘I’m sure it looks fine.’

Eric shakes his head. ‘Whatever.’

Dele taps his fingers on the table, tries to make sense of why Eric’s fixated on a stupid interview instead of their incredible achievement. ‘No, really, why are we talking about this? Why are you even watching that? You don’t, usually.’

Eric rubs his eyes, stares at his feet. Then he just shrugs.

Something’s going on, and Dele’s brain can’t even be happy about Champion’s League right now - it’s all Eric in there, Eric being unreasonable, Eric being a dick, Eric being unhappy. Because of him, somehow.

Dele sits next to him, again. He thinks of putting his hand on his knee, but decides against it. Anyone could walk in at any moment. He grabs Eric’s phone, sets it aside. Eric doesn’t protest, just stares ahead. He snorts when Dele decides to remove his headphones, too, but otherwise lets him do as he pleases.

Dele breathes a little bit easier because of that.

He sits as close as he can. He’s almost glued to Eric’s side, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, and it’s still not enough.

All in the name of being careful.

‘You know how it is, Diet. Not saying I don’t love these guys, love Winksy, cause I do. But I figure it’s clever to do more flirty shit like this once in a while. Cause of you. Cause of us.’ He speaks in a low voice, nudges Eric again, hopes it comes off as playful. He’s got half a mind to start shaking him.

Eric gets up, puts his beanie on. He wears it like armour and paces around the room, and Dele waits, waits, waits.

He thinks about making kissy faces at Harry. Staring lovingly at Sonny. Hugging Chris. It’s all real, and not. It’s all because of genuine friendship, and then it’s all about Eric.

All about the outside world, really, about them thinking there’s nothing special going on here, Dele’s the same with all these people, see?

But if it works on the world it makes Eric a grumpy bastard, and Dele can’t bring himself to say it’s worth it, not for a second. He sighs, rests his head on his hands.

‘I get it, Del. Go out, celebrate with the lads,’ Eric says at last.

It’s bullshit, and Eric’s still angry, or sad, and there’s something going on, and part of Dele wants to punch him, part of him wants to latch on to him and never let go.

He gets up, approaches him. ‘Do you really get it?’ He speaks as if speaking to a child. Dele himself doesn’t get it, doesn’t get why this is such a big deal to Eric, but it doesn’t matter either way - he’ll make him happy again. He has to.

Eric snorts. Dele loves that snort, even directed at him. Especially directed at him. Means he’s got under his skin.

He doesn’t love it now.

‘Go outside, Del. I’m just gonna -’

‘What, mope around in here all by yourself? I don’t get why this is so import-’

Eric folds his arms over his chest. ‘It’s clear that you don’t.’

‘What’s that even mean?’

_Something’s wrong._ Things aren’t meant to be wrong between them, ever. Nothing makes sense if they are.

Eric walks past him, grabs his bag. He’s the one to walk away, to go to the lads. He doesn’t even look back. Dele watches him go with a lump in his throat.

This is utterly stupid and Eric’s weird, has been weird for a while, and Dele can’t ignore it anymore. He sits down on the space Eric left, and watches his interview with Harry three times.

Nothing bad is going on in it. If anything, Dele chuckles at his obviously stupid comment about Winksy’s eyebrows. His brother had given him shit about that one after, too. Dele always forgets he’s supposed to love slug eyebrows. If Eric's mad then it's not because of this stupid moment, surely. And it doesn't sit well with him, how there are moods of Eric he can't interpret, parts of him he cannot reach.

Sonny comes looking for him a bit later, says they’re all prepared to leave for the bus, and _oh my god, you need to see Paulo, Dele, he looks like an egg!_

Dele smiles and joins him on the bus. Eric’s asleep at the back.

Or maybe Eric’s pretending to be asleep at the back.


	2. Breadcrumbs

Things are much the same on the plane. Dele goes to Eric and tries to banter a bit, but Eric pulls his hood up and looks at his phone again.

If he notices the hurt on Dele’s face, he doesn’t do anything about it, and Dele stomps away to Winksy instead. _Serves Eric right._

After a while, he ends up next to Harry. Takeoff is delayed, and Dele’s antsy and restless, so he decides to do an instagram live to pass the time. The fans always love those.

He jokes around with Jan and Sonny for a bit, laughs at Paulo’s stupid hair, then decides to go to Kyle and Winksy again. Maybe Eric will watch that, too. Maybe Dele should sit on Winksy’s lap, just cause.

On his way to them he pauses. Eric’s right where he left him a while ago, asleep. Or, pretending to be asleep.

He hovers there for a second, wondering if Eric will get angrier if he makes him participate in the stream.

To hell with it. The fans will get suspicious if he doesn’t show Eric.

‘Let me show you Mr. Sociable’, he says to his phone. He gets closer, shoves the camera on Eric’s face. Seems like he’s really dozed off, but Dele’s started now. He can’t disappoint the fans. He starts whistling, the same tune he always uses to annoy Eric when he’s trying to fall asleep.

It takes a moment, but Eric finally wakes with a start. He looks around him, and Dele notices how tired he looks, his eyes puffy and his skin red. He wonders if his cold has got worse.

Eric’s first instinct when he spots Dele is to smile.

Dele’s heart jumps to his throat. They’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. They’ll be okay.

‘You haven’t got anything to say? Not even hello?’ he asks.

Eric’s not heard him, his attention already drifting. Dele itches to touch Eric's forehead, check for a fever. He grips his phone with both hands to stop himself, and asks again.

‘What?’ Eric turns to him, amusement on his lips. It's probably the fogginess of sleep, making him forget he's giving Dele the cold shoulder. Or else Eric's cleverness, his media training. _Don't show the people what's really going on with you. Don't let them in. Guard yourself at all costs. Pretend all is fine, even when you want to punch your teammates, then never speak to them again._ Dele wonders if that could ever happen to this team. He can't fathom it, but then there are several things in his life he couldn't even imagine, yet happened. Like the man across from him, who finally gets his bearings and offers the fans a wave and a mumbled hello. Dele grins, glad for the breadcrumbs he's got.

He turns the camera away, lets Eric be.

‘So rude’, he shakes his head to the fans, a fond, involuntary smile still on his face.

He walks away before he can do anything stupid.


	3. 2:43

He makes it home at 2 a.m. He’s exhausted, and he’s happy about Champion’s League, but mostly he’s still uneasy because of this _thing_ with Eric. The worst of it is he can't even name it, can't think of an offence so big it'd make Eric turn on him for prolonged amounts of time. 

Eric puts up with a lot.

And he's sick, too, and Dele wonders if he’s making himself tea, if he’s keeping warm, if he’s taking care of himself. He thinks of texting him to ask, but decides against it. They didn’t say much after the live, only a couple words here and there, and after they landed Eric was gone before Dele could even think of going after him.

Dele chats with his brother a bit, but soon Harry goes to bed with his girlfriend, and Dele has a shower to get ready for bed. He settles under the covers, the day's fatigue catching up with him. He knows he should try to sleep immediately - also knows that's not bloody likely to happen, not when he's antsy and worried like this. 

He scrolls through instagram, liking a few posts about today’s results, then watches a few stories, trying to fixate on what the team did, how good he should be feeling right now. 

He manages it, too, for all of two minutes. Then he sees Erik's story, the one with all the baldies, Eric front and centre among them. Paulo's the subject of the story, but Eric's the one dominating the frame _(and Dele's not just thinking that - it's true. Just a fact of life. Eric is noticeable)_. He looks really, really good. You can’t even tell he’s sick. Dele takes a screenshot, then makes himself watch the next one, then the next one. He quickly gets bored of that, too.

Eric’s online when he checks a couple of minutes later. 

Dele opens his image folder, pulls up the screenshot. It’s after their argument in the dressing room, and Eric looks content. Smug, even. Maybe he is. Maybe he doesn’t even care that he’s making Dele sad.

Eric’s still on three minutes after that, and Dele thinks fuck it and sends him the screenshot, writes ‘u look the best out of all of them lol x’, hugs his phone to his chest and waits. 

For twenty seconds.

When he checks again, Eric’s offline.

Phone to the floor. He's probably cracked his nice blue case. _Again_. 

He turns the lights off, fluffs his pillow, and settles on his side.

Wrong move - normally, he would be looking at Eric right now. He gets on his back. There's a dark spot on the ceiling, how the hell did it get there? He wonders if it's a spider. This is when he'd nudge Eric and make him deal with it. He huffs. On his stomach, it's uncomfortable. He never knows what to do with his head. On his other side he's facing the window, and he doesn't much like that. It's tolerable when Eric's a safe presence behind him, but Eric - 

Fuck it. 

He grabs his phone and goes to the kitchen, drinks some water and plops on a stool. It's 2:43 and Eric's online again. 

Dele looks down at his thin top and sweatpants.

They’ll do.

He grabs a warm coat, finds a random pair of shoes, grabs his stuff, and goes.


	4. Under the kitchen lights

He makes it to Eric’s flat in less than five minutes, and he parks on the next road over, like he always does when it’s late. He uses his key for the front door - wouldn’t want Eric’s neighbours to see him loitering around at this hour - but not for the door of Eric’s flat. He knows that would only make him angry right now.

He stands outside the door feeling like something’s going to break tonight. Maybe that something will be him.

He takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. The sound is loud in the night, and if any neighbours are awake, they’ve definitely heard it. Well, Eric had better hurry up then.

He does.

And he’s so startled he takes a step back.

Dele grabs the opportunity and rushes in before Eric can get his bearings and shut the door on his face - and it’s stupid, Eric’s astonishment. Who else would it be at this hour?

Dele doesn’t let that thought linger.

Instead he looks around. The pillows are set neatly on the sofa, barely a crease on them. The sink is empty and shiny. Eric's shoes in a row below the mirror. Everything in its right place. Then he looks at Eric. Eric’s all wrong. He’s still wearing his plane clothes. He’s biting his lip, looking at the floor. His cheeks are full of colour, the rest of him twitchy and grey.

Dele should have texted.

‘Why are you here?’ Eric asks. His voice cracks.

 _Because I’m in love with you and I can’t stay away._ ‘Cause you’ve been a dick today, that’s why,’ he says. Folds his arms over his chest for good measure.

Eric stares at him. Sometimes Dele thinks the world could turn upside down and he wouldn’t notice, as long as Eric was looking at him. Sometimes he looks at him and the world turns upside down anyway and he thinks, _this is right, this is how the world should be._

He says nothing.

Eric walks to the sink, fills two glasses with water. He always stalls when he’s nervous. He offers Dele a glass. Dele takes it.

They drink in silence, but there's only so much stalling one can achieve with water. Eric gives up after the third glass. He looks around uneasily.

Dele runs his hands over his hair, over his sweatpants, tries to put them in pockets he doesn’t have.

In a movement that was normal yesterday, but not today, he puts them in the pockets of Eric’s hoodie, lets a whine escape his throat. He hasn’t kissed him since Sunday. ‘Talk to me,’ he pleads.

Eric doesn’t look at him. His eyes are fixed on the window, lines of light dancing on his face. _Under the kitchen lights, you still look like dynamite, and I wanna end up on you,_ Dele thinks, and why is that stupid song stuck in his head anyway?

Eric takes Dele’s hands out of his pockets and walks away, leans against the counter. Dele ignores the urge to break something, schools his features into what he hopes is a cool, serious expression, and leans on the island across from him.

The dishwasher is the only thing making any noise in the room. _It's three in the fucking morning, you neat freak,_ Dele thinks. 

Eric doesn’t speak for a long time. His chest’s moving rapidly and Dele thinks, idly, _he’s about to cry. Shit. He’s crying. I’ve made him cry._

‘I’m just tired, Del,’ Eric says at last. He looks at him with a small, sad smile, eyes wet, knuckles white against the counter, and oh. _Oh._

Dele laughs, at himself. It sounds mad to his ears. ‘Tired of us? Of me?’ he asks. He can barely hear his own voice. He feels like crying, too. He feels like digging a hole in the kitchen floor and crawling in it.

Of course. Eric’s tired of him. Of fucking course.

It would happen one day, wouldn’t it?

‘Tired of the whole damn world, Del,’ Eric says and takes a step toward him. ‘Tired of pretending to be something I’m not.’ He takes another step and he’s there, right there. He cradles Dele’s face in his hands, and he’s trembling, and _Dele’s_ trembling, and he can’t see through the tears. ‘Tired of being in love with you when all we can be is friends,’ Eric goes on, and Dele wraps his arms around him, holds him so tight he’s probably hurting him.

Eric wipes his tears away, gently, and looks at him. Dele wants to crawl inside him and never leave.

He loosens his hold on him.

‘I’m tired of the whole fucking world, Del, but not of you. Never of you. And that’s the problem.’ He offers him one last smile, then walks away, leaving Dele a shaking mess.

His bedroom door clicks softly.


	5. But first, tea

Dele rushes to the sink. There are tears in his eyes, and snot running down his nose, and he’s gross and trembling and grinning like a fool. He splashes water on his face, begs his heart to slow down.

Trust Eric to kill him with happiness.

He paces around a bit. Splashes more water on his face. The mystery's solved. He never wants Eric's problem to go away. It amazes him, how long they’ve gone without saying it - they love each other. Like _that_. They are in love. He needs to run to Eric and say it back.

First he puts the kettle on.


	6. Burrito

Eric’s on the bed, plane clothes _still_ on. He hasn’t even got under the covers. Dele sets the tea down and feels his forehead. His temperature is a tad alarming, but even more alarming is the fact that Eric doesn't react at all to his presence. Dele can’t tell if he’s shell shocked by what came out of his mouth or delirious. 

He’s too giddy to be put off by either of these scenarios.

He grabs Eric and takes him to the toilet. Eric raises his eyebrows at him, acting like a human at last, and Dele gestures towards the shower.

‘Go on then,’ he tugs at his shirt.

Eric smiles, and all is right in the world. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Absolutely. Unless you want me to do it for you,’ Dele grins.

Eric laughs at that, starts coughing, too, and Dele runs to the tap.

When he's adjusted the temperature of the water, Eric's ready to step in. Dele stands outside, but close enough to catch him if he falls.  _Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall._

They’ve showered together before, but this feels different. More intimate, somehow. Romantic, even. 

‘Staring at my arse, Delboy?’ Eric asks.

 _Not_ romantic, then. 

‘You’re sick. I’m just making sure you’re safe,’ Dele replies. Even as he's rolling his eyes, he's grinning. 

Eric snorts. Dele loves it.

 

*

 

A couple of minutes later he wraps him in a huge towel and runs off, belatedly realising he didn’t bring clothes with him. He rummages through Eric’s drawers, grabs three layers of tops and two pairs of socks just to be safe, and runs to the toilet again.

Eric’s standing wrapped like a burrito, and Dele loves him so much he kisses him.

Eric starts back and Dele panics. He flails around and a couple of socks spill from his arms. He catches them midair and sets all the clothes on the counter, feeling like an idiot. 

‘Are you crazy?’ Eric shouts. His back hits the shower wall and the water comes on again, drenching him. 

Dele feels like jumping into the toilet and flushing himself to oblivion. Instead he grabs another towel, gets Eric out of the shower, and attempts to dry him again. No matter his feelings - he must get Eric warm immediately. Eric lets all of this happen with an apathy that speaks volumes about his physical and mental state. Dele bites his lip. 'S-sorry, I thought. You said you are in -’

‘Man, I’m sick! You can’t catch a cold, you -’

Dele pauses his movements. ‘Wait, you’re not mad I kissed you?’

Eric looks at him, confused. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just said?’ He puts his palm on Dele’s forehead. ‘Do you have a fever, too?’ 

_Oh._

Jesus fucking Christ, Dele, Eric's _sick_. Kissing sick people gets _you_ sick. What are you, _five_?

Dele laughs, flicks Eric’s nose. Five he is. ‘You love me.’

Eric takes a step back, looking sheepish. He coughs and then he says, ‘You must have caught it on Sunday, we weren’t careful, I’ve told you we shouldn’t kiss when-’

‘I love you.’

‘What?’

‘I love you, Diet. L-O-V-E. I couldn’t sleep cause you were mad at me. Kept thinking about you being a fucking idiot and not taking care of yourself,’ Eric opens his mouth to protest, but Dele motions around them. ‘And look at you, I was fucking right.’ He grabs Eric’s pants from the counter, he has to get him dressed sometime during this century, really, and he says ‘I’m tired as all hell and I came here, at arse o’clock in the morning, because I love you.’ He grabs a thick pair of sweatpants next, then the first pair of socks. ‘Your tea’s got cold, by the way. I’ll make you another cuppa, cause I love you.’ He puts the second pair of socks on top of the first one. Eric doesn’t protest. Dele gets up, resolved to move to the first layer of tops. ‘I’d do anything really, where's that bloody shirt, cause I love you, and you really fucking hurt -’ 

Eric wraps him in his arms before he can move.

‘Fucking hell, Diet.’ Dele’s voice is muffled on Eric’s chest as he feels blindly for some piece of fabric to put on him. He finds the towel, the one that's relatively dry, and sets it awkwardly on Eric’s shoulders. He shouldn't be letting a man in a feverish delirium sidetrack him like that, but then he's _five,_ and the man's _fine._ Give him a break. 

 

*

 

Eric’s not loosening his hold, and it’s been a while, and Dele’s pretty sure he _will_ get a cold now, and they’re both idiots. _Great._

‘I love you,’ Eric says, and they’re both idiots, and it’s great.


End file.
